


Mission Control

by halo_in_reverse



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Complicated Business Relationships, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo_in_reverse/pseuds/halo_in_reverse
Summary: Oh look another No Sex Pact fic!





	Mission Control

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't have any excuses for this. If you are the subject of this story, please avert your eyes and accept my sincerest apologies. May God have mercy on my soul.

**1\. Launch Sequence**

“A fucking hickey? Really? Are you fifteen?!”

It’s 1am and they’re walking arm in arm along the Quai des Belges in Marseille. The light December wind blowing off the water is burning their cheeks with cold, but they’re warm from wine at dinner and the remaining dregs of adrenaline from finally capturing the Grand Prix win that’s eluded them for so long.

She throws her head back and laughs, and he can’t help but grin even if he really does want to know what the hell she was thinking. Probably the exact same thing he was at that particular moment, which would explain a lot.

“Would it help if I told you it wasn’t a hickey?” she asks after composing herself for a moment.

“What the hell is it then?”

“I do believe that was from teeth. Give me some credit.”

He huffs. “Oh well that makes a huge difference, thank you so very much.”

She’s racked with giggles again and he responds by pulling her into a tight hug. The waterfront has mostly cleared for the night so they stand together barely moving, taking in the lights reflecting off the surface of the Old Port.

Eventually she clears her throat and looks up at him. “I’ve been thinking,”

“That never ends well for me.” He quips.

A shake of her head. “Hush. Just listen and don’t flip out, ok?” There’s a brief but sharp spark of panic in his gut but he lets her continue anyway. “If we’re going to make a run at this, we both need to concentrate on what’s happening on the ice, not on what we do off of it.”

His face scrunches up. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean, I think we need to shelve this part of us until after the games.”

He whines. Loudly. “That’s fourteen months away! I’m the victim here, why am I being punished?!”

“Nobody is being punished!” She taps at the spot on his chest covered at least temporarily by several layers of clothes. “Look, that I didn’t catch myself doing it and you didn’t even notice until it was far too late to hide means we’re being careless and that just can’t happen again.”

It would be easy to have a tantrum but he knows she’s right. She’s always right.

“I promise nothing will change how I feel about you, about us, but I need to focus and so do you.”

He sighs, defeated. “Fine. Alright.”

She rewards his acquiescence with a wide grin and a quick kiss. He’s not completely sold on the idea but he knows once her mind is set on something, it’s impossible to talk her out of it. Her arms snake under his jacket and he rests his chin on the crown of her head.  “So, when do we start just being coworkers again? Right now?”

She laughs against his chest and moves her hands up the muscular planes of his back.

“Tomorrow.”

  
**2\. Escape Velocity**

They cruise through the year fairly effortlessly. Between training sessions and meetings with dieticians and sports psychologist and relationship counselors, there isn’t much time to be alone anyway. She’s in full professional mode; he’s still hopelessly tactile but it’s nothing she hasn’t dealt with for the better part of her life.

That doesn’t mean it’s always easy. There are times where he catches her glancing at him in way he’d only dreamed of previously. He’ll wink, then she’ll demure and glide away and it takes everything to not chase her down and drag her off to the closest locker room.

He’s restless for the first couple months but finally adjusts to this new-old version of them. The programs are getting dialed in and he feels looser physically and more confident in his skating than since he was a kid when he was too arrogant to know better. And she’s pushing herself harder and growing in ways he’s never seen. They might actually pull this thing off.

The summer nearly comes to an end without incident until a practice session goes a little sideways. They’re running through the short program and he comes out of a spin a little too fast and a little too close. A split-second decision is made and he places a hand on her abdomen to brace himself while the entire length of his body presses in to the back of hers at full speed.

There’s a bite of well-manicured nails into his flank and his ribs vibrate with her low, private growl. Instantly the frigid wash of arousal floods his chest and after a few long seconds, he pushes off and away, his eyes cautiously scanning her face over his shoulder. Tessa rarely swears, but when she does she really, really means it. Because of this, he understands with complete clarity every single obscene invective contained in her wide-eyed stare.  It is hands down the single hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

It’s so intense that he has to turn his head and mentally shake it off, but when he dares looks back her direction, her usual seraphic smile has returned. He knows then and there’s he’s going to spend the rest of training trying to make her do that again, and almost praying he doesn’t succeed.

Time flies when you’re trying to not get murdered by your business partner.

 

**3\. Re-Entry**

She loses track of him at some point during the party back at the Canada House. Both of their phones had been blowing up since after the medal ceremony, and she assumes he’s stepped out to take yet another call from somebody back home. She’s not terribly concerned; it’s not like he could go far.

The line at the bar is ridiculous, but she queues up anyway. She’s still too wired to sleep so she’s got nothing but time. Scott still hasn’t resurfaced and she’s just about to send him a quick text to see if he wants a drink when the phones vibrates in her hand. The screen lights up with four quick words, _“Look to your left.”_

Turning her head, she sees a long, dark hallway leading to the back of the building. About halfway down the hall lit only by the muted red lights from the dance floor, stands Scott. He’s leaning against the wall, his phone dangling loosely from between his fingertips. They look at each other for a long moment. She tilts her head slightly. A question. He nods almost imperceptibly. An answer.

He pushes off from where he was standing and starts walking away, and she falls in behind him immediately.  She peeks over her shoulder to ensure nobody at the bar is paying attention and catches up in a few easy strides. A cool hand finds the back of her neck and he leads them down the corridor. At the end, there’s a quick right to the back stairs and beneath the stairs, a small storage area.

She turns and slides her arms around his back as he crowds her into the space. There isn’t much room to maneuver, but not much is needed. Her legs are already wrapped around his hips and he’s pressing her into a case of toilet paper and he’d make a glib joke about how this could really fuck up their chances of being awarded the Order of Canada but she’s got a fist full of his hair and his lower lip between her teeth and she’s doing quite enough talking for them both.

Clothes are roughly shoved aside and pushed down. The space is too small, the angles are wrong, it’s altogether undignified and things are happening far too quickly. Despite everything, in spite of everything, it’s still breathtakingly, devastatingly perfect.

They’re ready to go home.

 


End file.
